The Final Journal of Martha Bessell
by BellatrixxNarcissa
Summary: NOW COMPLETE - The last seven years of her life before her death were dark and lonely and all moments were recorded in her journal - please read my other story "Spring and Summer" before reading this, otherwise it will make no sense! *WARNING* Contains mature topics, such as self-harm, child abuse and maybe even a bit of lime.
1. Prologue

When you read this, I will be dead.

Yes. I, Martha Bessel, have written one last journal, accounting all of my memories from my last seven years of life.

A joke of a life. I lived in darkness, afraid of everything, even my friends.

But now I'm gone.

So I hope you're happy.

I keep this letter in a small wooden box on my bed, enclosed with my journal. You may read it, you may not. I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore. I suppose I don't care what you think of me now.

If you read it, you will see how I was dying inside. How it never really did matter if my body was alive or dead, I was numb.

So then I suppose that it doesn't matter that I'm dead now. I suppose it's for the better, I won't be a burden on my friends, a ghost to my mother or something for my father to take his anger out on.

So, please, sit back and enjoy the story of the sad excuse of a life that mine was.


	2. Deathday

We begin this story in the late afternoon of the eighth of October, 1886. Yes, I still remember the date. I remember many things now that I never thought that I would.

But I remember this day because this was the day that I truly died.

Autumn was in full effect. The trees had taken on fiery shades and the light was golden every afternoon. I was a mere seven years old, a simple child, climbing trees, tormenting the cat, playing with my friends. I admired the boys, especially Moritz, but the thought of giving them a peck on the cheek was alien to me. Looking back on it now, I was truly a silly little girl, tumbling all over the place, giggling like a maniac.

I had just come back from Wendla Bergman's house, where I had been playing fairies with her, Ilse Frei, Anna Wheelan and Thea Verrat. We had just agreed that whenever we played, I would be the fairy queen, because I was the tallest and I was in high spirits. For once being a larger girl paid off! I trotted into the kitchen, my brown pigtails bouncing on my shoulders. You were there, Mama. You were drying a dish from lunchtime, a chore that you had always left until the golden afternoon had dawned on us.

Mama, how much I had loved you! I idolized you, as most girls idolized their mothers but I only see now how truly scared you were. I remember, you were always nervous, eyes always darting fiercely around the room, it seemed you were terrified that, perhaps something would jump out at you. You were so weak, the slightest thing would send you into shivers. Mama, how much I remember your face. I can see it so clearly now, yet there's another face, one that I can't recognize right beside it.

I had ran into the kitchen and grabbed one of the sweet buns that you had nodded me towards. Your buns, Mama, they were delicious. You turned to me and asked if I would bring a cup of coffee to my father.

I, of course, jumped at this offer. What girl would turn down an opportunity to help her sweet mother. So, I eagerly grabbed the cup of scalding coffee and trotted into your office.

Looking back on it again, I cannot see how it took me so long before the full heat of the cup had sunk in. but I ran into your office and suddenly I realized how hot it was.

I made to quickly put it down on the table next to my father's chair, truly I did. I never meant to do what happened next.

My arm accidentally nudged it and the coffee poured out over the table, soaking your papers and spilling onto your trousers.

It all happened so quickly then.

You jumped up, your legs throwing the chair behind you into the wall, knocking over several of the things on top of the chest of drawers. You looked at your grey trousers, glistening with black coffee, and then fixed your steely eyes on me.

I still remember your words;

"You horrible little ingrate." You hissed. "You have no business coming into my office and spilling my own coffee all over my trousers." You then wrap your hands around my shoulders. "You piece of filth!" You shout, shaking me, digging your fingers into my bones. "You don't deserve to live in this house, you deserve to be living on the streets!" You push, throwing me across the room and I land on my knees, banging my head on the wall.

The next thing I see, you are undoing your belt and sliding it out of your trousers. I see you raise your arm, belt in hand before I feel a horrible, burning pain over my cheek. I look up at you, frightened and my hands move up to my cheek. It's wet. There's blood. You had made me bleed.

"You- disgusting- piece- of rubbish!" With every word, you drop your arm, sending another pain, this time on my shoulder, this time on my knee, this time on my back, this time on my foot. The pain as awful, I feel it everywhere and after eight horrible lashes you finally stop.

"To bed, you." You hiss, glaring down at me. "If you deserve it, after all."

You then stalk out of the room and I am left to do nothing but curl up on the floor and sob.

That was the day that I died inside. The eighth of October, 1886. My true deathday.


	3. A Beauty

Enough with that story. I thought you might like to know it though, because it's what started everything. Father started regularly beating me, it became an addiction, like his drink. He'd go out to work, go to the pub and come home and take the belt at me. But one night, it got worse.

I was sitting in my chair, reading my old book, The Adventures of Friedrich the Knight. I had found it in the shop and it was an incredible story, of fast horses, grand castles and majestic princesses. It took me to another place, and back then, I needed to get to another place, so I stole it from the shop. I was engrossed in it, curled up in my small chair, reading it for the seventeenth time. My cheek stung from when father had whipped me that evening, for one of my plaits being undone.

Still seven, I was oblivious to the true extent of the darkness of my father. He beat me, true, but I never knew how horrible he could be. I was about to find out.

"Time for bed, Martha." My mother avoids my eyes, focused on her embroidering, blatantly avoiding my eyes. Now, I wonder if she knew what was going to happen. I don't suppose it mattered. She was powerless.

I sigh, and snap my book shut, tucking it under my arm as I climb off the chair and walk silently over to my room. I had learnt to be quiet while walking to my room, father gets angry if I pass his study loudly. I creep over to my door and open it with a quick click and look at my bed.

I dread sleep. Sleep is where the dreams start, where all of my anger and fear and frustration come out in frightening pictures in my mind. Every night, I wet the bed, giving father another reason to come down on me the next morning.

Perhaps tonight, if I get into bed and then turn the candle out, the nightmares won't come. So, I walk over to the bed and tuck myself under my quilt, then lean over to the table and blow my candle out.

I sit in the darkness a bit. This darkness that I know so well. I sometimes even talk to it, it's my only companion during the night.

I lie there for the most five minutes before there's a knock on the door. I look at it wearily, frightened for who would rear their ugly head at me. The door opens and I see the broad silhouette of father and I stiffen in anticipation. He laughs and walks over to me.

"Martha, listen." He says, sitting on the bed. "I wanted to say goodnight."

I avoid his eyes and give one quick nod. He laughs again, a dark, scary laugh.

"A kiss goodnight?" He chuckles stupidly and I smell drink on his breath. I wearily sit up and he wraps his arms around me and plants a kiss on my forehead. I make to lie back down but he doesn't let go.

"Come, child, the Lord won't mind." He pushes me back, his arms still around my body and climbs on top of me. I am frozen, not knowing how to respond, not knowing if I should respond. He begins to kiss my cheeks again, moving down to my neck, then lower. I suppress a scream. What is he doing? Is this worse than beating?

I whimper and he looks back up at me with a smile on his face. "Don't you worry, child. It's just you and me." He goes back down, moving his hands all over my body, in places that I had never ventured, never explored.

What happens next, I can't understand, and perhaps I can't even remember. All I remember is that his trousers are on the floor and I feel a new sensation, a pain, in between my legs. It hurts so much, I want to scream, but I know better than to do anything, much less scream. So I just lie there and breathe, praying for it to end soon.

And it ends. Not soon, but it ends. The pain is gone. Replaced with a warmth that I can't understand, but still gone. Father chuckles and leans back up to my face, kissing me on the mouth one more time.

"Child, you're a beauty."


	4. Should've, Would've

The next three years went a lot like that. I started to grow, bringing with it a new school, new clothes and more unwanted attention from my father.

Nothing in that time ever stood out except one incident with my friends. We were sitting, all five of us, under the large oak, spring returning. Five ten year olds, not talking about anything in particular. The subject of parents came up and all the girls started talking about things that their families did together.

"My Mama bought me this new dress!" Wendla Bergman gushes, pulling on the fabric of her new powder blue fairy dress.

"My Papa is taking me to the circus tomorrow!" Anna Wheelan chirps, swinging excitedly.

"My Papa thinks that I will become a great person!" Thea Verrat announces with an air of superiority.

They all giggle at her and she rolls her eyes and laughs along.

Just like it's all one big joke.

The only one who is not laughing is Ilse Frei. She is looking down at the grass, tickling a beetle with a blade, letting her long hair cover her face, wearing a bleak smile. The other girls look at her.

"Ilse, what's wrong?" Anna asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ilse looks up and laughs a hoarse laugh. "Oh, nothing!" She laughs, a glittering and fake laugh. "I was just thinking about the homework! It's going to be difficult."

I stare at her, unable to understand why she has made such a blatant lie. The other girls are back chatting about God knows what but Ilse is back to poking the poor insect with a twig. Her wild hair falls in front of her face again and she shakes it back annoyingly.

"Here." I say, shuffling over to her. I take her hair and lightly braid it, not as tight as mine, looser, and tie it at the end with a knot.

"Thanks." Ilse smiles at me and begins to shred a leaf.

I watch her for a bit. "Ilse, why did you just lie like that?"

She looks at me, a weary look on her face. "How did you know I was lying?"

I raise my shoulders. "I don't know. I just thought maybe… never mind, it's silly."

Ilse looks at me, and then turns to the rest of the group. "I'm going to go for a walk with Martha. We'll be back soon!" The other girls nod and she grabs my hand to pull me up.

We walk a bit, hand in hand through the forest, saying nothing until she stops.

"Martha?" She bites her lip. "I have something to tell you and I think that I can trust you. But will you promise to keep it a secret?" She holds out her hand in our ritual promise ceremony.

I take it, shaking hard. "Of course, Ilse, I'll never tell anybody if you don't want me to."

She smiles at me. "Martha, I can't tell the other girls this, they didn't listen or didn't understand or didn't want to know."

"Know what?" I look at her inquisitively and her eyes glaze over.

"My father…" She starts. "My father hits me!" She cries and lets out a sob. "I keep it in all the time because I'm so cared to tell anyone but its true!"

I stare at her in shock, not quite understanding.

Was this actually happening to someone else?

Was I not actually alone?

"What?" I ask her slowly. "Your father beats you too?"

"He beats you?" Ilse exclaims, covering her mouth with her hands. "But I thought I was the only one!"

I shake my head, my own tears beginning to start. "I thought that I was alone too. I didn't think that it was happening to anybody else."

Ilse shakes her head. "And some nights…"

"He comes into my room and…"

"Oh, Martha, I'm so scared!" She grabs my arms. "I always try to be strong but I want to scream, every time it happens!"

"I know, Ilse." I say, holding her hand. "Does your Mama know?"

Ilse nods. "Sometimes she also beats me. Oh, Martha, I need to run away!"

I look at her, frightened. "Ilse, don't say such things!"

She shakes her head. "I will run away, when I'm older."

"How old?"

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen!" I look at her, scandalized. "Ilse, that's only three years away!"

She smiles for the first time. "I will be older then though and I will go to the artist's colony to become a model!"

I sigh. "I wish that I could run away as well."

Ilse grabs my hands again. "Then come with me! We can go together!"

I look at her for a moment, her face is a mixture of fear and ecstasy. "I – I can't. I'm so scared of running away."

"Martha, you're going to be hurt if you stay longer!" She says, shaking her head. "Maybe not now but later."

"I'm sorry, Ilse. I can't"

Oh Ilse, how I wish I had listened to you.

I know now that I should have.

Otherwise I would not be writing this right now.


	5. Going Under

That was one of the last times that I ever really felt like a child anymore. From then on, I got older, I started growing. Suddenly, I was about twenty centimeters taller and my shoe size increased in proportion. And also, other parts of my body began to change. My hips came out, and my waist began to go in and I grew two small bumps under my dress.

I began getting more attention around the village. Old ladies would tell me what a blossom I was becoming, workers would whistle as I walked by and the schoolboys, coming out of their lessons would watch me, knowing smiles upon their lips, and a slight surprise at seeing their childhood friend all grown up.

And to think.

I was a mere thirteen years of age.

I started to notice then, whenever I saw the boys come out, my attitude towards them changed. I started to view them as more than just the boys that used to sprinkle dandelion seeds over my hair and more as… attractive creatures that I could perhaps even marry.

Of course, I had always admired Moritz Stiefel. I used to see him walk around the village with Melchi Gabor. And while all of the girls gushed over Melchior's rebellious ways, I would watch Moritz, note how interested he seemed in everything, how quiet and thoughtful he was until those thoughts became feelings, feelings that I didn't understand, that my Mama never told me. I found myself thinking about him more and more, as the other girls thought of Melchi.

Then there was Ilse. Thea, who lived in the house next door to Ilse's, had heard an argument and the next day, Ilse was gone. She didn't come to lessons, didn't come to Sunday School, didn't meet us in our regular place under the oak. I imagined that she had gone to the artist's colony like she said and I wonder why she hadn't tried to find me.

I was losing it. Father no longer waited until it was dark to bring his horrors upon me. Any time he deemed fit, he would find me and hurt me. After a while, I would get so frightened to merely sit in the living room that I started shaking and would have to go outside to empty my fears through my mouth. I no longer felt real, more like I was a ghost, looking in and watching this girl struggle though her world that was falling in on her. Around my friends, I was a sweet, innocent, free-loving girl, but alone I was screaming, so angry at the world, hating everything, even myself. I would pull my hair out when I got nervous and my tight plaits turned thinner and thinner. I ran away a few times and hid in the forest, but always came back. I didn't have anywhere to go.

I was going under. And there was nothing I could do.


	6. Making Love

I thought about Moritz more and more. I spent each day wondering what he does, where he goes. It was starting to get ridiculous. I sewed the wrong bits of material together in lessons, earning more beatings when I came back with bad reports from the teacher and failed assignments. I would wonder what he thought of me, if anything. He didn't seem interested in the girls, he spent his time talking to Melchior or studying.

I had just come out from a lesson, where I had spent an extra hour looking at my teacher, Frau Blücher's, books. I loved her books, she had shelves and shelves of them. I always wondered if she thought that something was wrong, as she always invited me to look at them and have a cake with her.

Anyway, I had just come out and was walking down the street, looking at my red dress, which I had just spilled dark blue ink on. Even though Frau Blücher had tried to get it out with soap and water and wrote a letter to my parents explaining it, there was still a stain and the prospect of another beating from father because of it.

I was walking, trying not to let the first breezes of spring sneak into my coat and make me freeze, looking down at my stained dress, I didn't see what I was walking into.

"Martha!" Moritz Stiefel jumps back, rubbing his forehead where it had bumped mine. "Sorry, I didn't see you!" He looks down at a bunch of papers in his hands, looks at me and quickly stuffs the papers behind his back. "How are you?" He asks, looking fazed.

I smile at him. "I'm tired. I was walking home from lessons."

He nods. "Yes. I was coming home from gymnastics." He shuffles a bit on his feet, swaying from side to side."

"Well, I was wondering, I might get lost on the way home, because it's getting dark. Would you accompany me?" I slide my hands behind my back.

"Accompany you?" He looks at me for a moment, as if he were trying to comprehend what I'd just said. "Alright. I wanted to go to Melchior's house anyway."

He turns to walk next to me and we begin down the road. His hands remain behind his back, clutching the bundle of papers.

"What's that?" I ask, gesturing to it.

He looks at me, shocked. "Oh! It's nothing, an essay that Melchior wrote for me."

"What about?"

He pauses. "Biology."

I nod and lower my head. "We don't learn biology at our lessons. Only sewing and cooking, sometimes dancing or music."

"Yes. Because you go to 'lady lessons'" He says.

"Yes, that's right." We walk in silence a bit. "Moritz, are you alright?"

He looks startled but replies with a straight face. "Yes, I've just had quite an awakening."

"With the essay?" I ask, watching him.

He nods. "It's quite disturbing."

"What is it?" I ask, my curiosity growing.

He pauses again. "It is entitled 'The Art of Making Love.'"

"Making love?" I ask, astounded. "But Father Kahlbach says that love isn't made, it's always there."

"No, it's – it's different from that." Moritz stutters, lowering his head.

"Tell me." I press and he looks at me. "Please."

And so he tells me. About the man and the woman, about the feeling, about the product. By the end of it, I'm shocked.

I know all about this. This has happened to me, it happens to me all the time. And apparently it's called 'making love'.

When it happened to me, I didn't feel any love. I felt pain and fear. Not love.

"Martha? Martha, are you alright?" Moritz stops and looks at me quizzically. I stare at him.

"Moritz, I have to go." I say, as I feel the tears coming near.

"Martha, you're crying!" Moritz pulls out a white handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me.

"Thank you, Moritz, I can walk back from here." I whisper, giving him back the wet piece of cotton. "Goodnight." I lean forward and wrap my arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his mouth as I do so.

Because, at that moment, I thought that that was going to be the last time that I will ever see him.


	7. Strength

**A/N: I just want to say that this chapter was really hard for me to write because it's based off something that a friend told me happened to her.**

* * *

I sob uncontrollably as I walk the next few streets to my house. I stopped calling it home long ago. The true reality of what is happening to me had finally hit and I was determined to end it.

No matter what.

Neither Mama nor Father will be home. Mama will be at the seamstress and Father will be at the pub, getting ready to come home. But I will not be there.

I finally get home and use my key to get in and run all the way up to my room and shut and lock the door behind me. I fall against it and sink until I'm sitting. And I cry. I scream with my tears, I bury my head in a pillow and ruin it as I do so. And I can't stop. Even when I think that I've run out of tears, new ones find a way to gush out.

And I know what I have to do.

I have to end the pain.

Now.

I run downstairs to the kitchen. There's the drawer, where Mama keeps all of her carving knives. They will do the trick. I open it and find the perfect one. Long, thin, with a very sharp end.

I let one last cry out and position it on top of my stomach and wait.

But I can't do it. I can't just push and let my life end. I try, but it's too hard. I drop the knife and fall to the floor, sobbing more and more as I do so.

I'm weak. That's why Father has been doing all of this to me, because I'm not strong enough to stop him.

No. I have to prove that I'm strong.

I pick up the knife and position it on the top of my arm, pushing it in and sliding it across, forming a long, thin cut that begins flooding blood.

I lean my head back against the counter, letting the blood and tears fall as they wish. I can't take father anymore, I'm drowning in everything. I can barely breathe, I'm so angry. I watch the blood trickle down my shoulder and I feel stronger, in power, but still so weak.

No. I want to be strong.

* * *

**REALLY IMPORTANT A/N:**

**I was looking at some study guides on Martha so that I could tap into her character and something dawned on me. That this is happening to other people as well.**

**If you are reading this and have ever experienced anything like Martha, ever been bullied, ever self harmed or considered suicide, please stop and talk to me! My pm box is always open, and I will always talk to anyone who is having a hard time. I have a friend who has just gone through awful things with her home life, so I know not to judge. I won't judge you at all, just give you someone who will listen and care.**

**Please, just remember, if this is you, you are too important to this world, too precious, don't let these narrow-minded people hurt you. I'm always here.**

**Sorry, I just needed to bring that into the open because we're dealing with hard and sometimes sensitive topics in this fanfic.**


	8. Strong and Tall

"Shall we take the short way home?" Wendla asks, pulling me along.

"No, no, by the bridge!" Thea exclaims, running down the stone path ahead of us.

"After two hours marching with that medicine ball?" Wendla cries.

"Come on!" Thea looks exasperated.

"Someone wants to see! Has Melchi Gabor taken a raft out?" Anna teases, walking closer. Wendla and I giggle and grasp each other's hands until we hear the death sentence that makes us stop.

"The last one there has to hold hands with Hanschen!" Thea cries.

"Eww!" We all scream and I run as fast as I can ahead of them, my ribbon catching on my dress button.

"Oh, Martha, careful, your braid is coming undone!" Anna says, catching up with me and I abruptly stop and wind the ribbon around my hair, tightening it more.

"Just leave it!" Wendla cries, annoyed.

"Isn't it a nuisance for you day and night?" Thea asks. "You may not cut it short, you may not wear it down!"

"Tomorrow, I'm bringing scissors!" Wendla cries, clasping her hands and I whirl around.

"Godsend, Wendla, no! Papa beats me enough as it is!" I cry, letting my biggest secret slip in just seven words. I freeze, suddenly afraid of the three pairs of eyes watching me, worried.

"Really?" Anna's face turns into a frown.

I open my mouth, searching for an answer. "No! It's nothing." I turn but am interrupted with a chorus of "Martha!"

"We're your friends." Anna takes my hand.

I hesitate, trying to play for time but I realize that I have to tell them now. "When I don't do as he likes…"

"What?" Thea presses.

I pause again. "Some nights… Papa yanks out his belt."

"But where's your Mama?" Thea asks, a look of horror on her face.

I raise myself up, mimicking my mother. "'We have rules in this house. Your father will not be disobeyed!' The other night, I ran for the door. 'Out the door, alright, I like that, that's where you'll spend the night, out on the street!'" I point behind me and the girls flinch.

"No!" Thea cries, turning to Wendla, who is looking at me, horrified.

"It's so cold." I say, mostly to myself.

"My God." Anna is shocked. "He beats you with a belt?" She says, as if it was something so different. How I long to be as naïve as she is.

"With anything." I say, shaking my head.

"With a buckle?" Wendla asks, looking very worried.

I look at her, then down at my sleeve and I pull away my dress, revealing a large, red bruise. A bruise that I have been hiding for so long. "Right there."

"Martha, the welts! They're terrible!" Wendla leaps forward, grabbing my arm.

"We must tell someone!" Anna says, running to me.

"Anna, no!" I cry, suddenly afraid.

"But we must!" she persists.

"No, no, please, they'll throw me out for good!" I cry grasping her hands.

"Like what happened to Ilse, you remember?" Thea looks dazed.

"But still!" Anna begins up the path, pulling me along.

"Anna, no, look what's become of Ilse now!" I cry, pulling her back. "Living who knows where with who knows who!"

"I just wish I could somehow go through it for you." Wendla looks horrified.

"My Uncle Klaus says that if you don't discipline a child, you don't love it!" Thea proclaims, stamping her foot.

"That must be." I say in thought, walking over to her.

"When I have children, I'll let them be free!" Anna announces. "And they'll grow strong and tall!"

"Free." Thea repeats, then snapping back to attention. "But how will we know what to do if our parents don't tell us?"

And for the first time in six years, I felt closer to my friends. But it wasn't to be for long.


	9. A Sanctuary

My friends continued to inquire about what was happening at home. Sunday school was the one place that I could breathe, praying was my only escape. Day after day, I begged to God for everything to stop, but it never did. I wonder now why I continued to believe in God, why I didn't speculate all the time, like Melchior Gabor. But, perhaps, I just needed something to believe in, something to hold onto.

I remember one Sunday school in particular. I had come early to have some time alone in the church, when no-one else was there. The white walls glowed with a golden light as the children's candles at the front flickered and there was a silence, a beautiful silence, full of peace and wonder. From a side door, you could see the light of a full spring.

As I sat in one of the seats along the isle, looking up at the large cross at the front, who was to walk in but Wendla Bergman. She looked solemn, almost upset, and in one hand, she held a small satchel and in the other hand, a leather bound book, not so different from the one that I'm writing in now. As she arrived, she saw me and started.

"Hello, Martha." She says, putting the book behind her back.

"Hello, Wendla." I say, walking over to greet her. "Why are you here so early?"

"No reason." She says, looking up at the cross on the far end of the church. "Mama said that I could come early if I wanted to, as long as I ate all of my lunch." She raises the satchel for proof. "I like it here. It makes me calm."

I look at her. Something's changed. Her eyes are bloodshot, as if she had been crying and her hair is a mess, like she had been tossing and turning all night. She has a distant feel to her.

"Shall we go further up to light a candle?" I ask and she nods. We begin to walk up and she starts to talk.

"I thought that today I would show Father Kahlbach the sermon that I have been preparing all week." She begins, her hands behind her back. "After all, I-" She abruptly stops as she trips over one of the seats, falling painfully on her stomach in the church isle.

"My God, Wendla, are you alright?" I cry, going on my knees to look at her and as I do so, I notice something else. Her dress has fallen up to show her thighs and along them are long, thin, red marks. Marks that can only be made using a cane.

I know those marks.

I have those marks.

"Wendla!" I cry, falling back a bit as I do so. "Your legs! They're-"

"It's nothing!" She exclaims, moving quickly to kneel and pick up the leather book that she had dropped.

"Wendla, did your father…" I start but she looks at me angrily.

"It's nothing, I said!" She looks livid now. "I was in the forest the other day and got caught in some brambles!"

"Alright…" I say, drawing back. She gathers herself and stands up, the book under her arm.

"I think I'll light the candle by myself then, Martha." She whispers and goes to walk over to the lantern.

"Hello, Martha!" a voice behind me exclaims and I spin around to come face to face with Father Kahlbach.

"Good Morning, Father Kahlbach." I say, curtseying as I was taught.

He smiles at me. "Early for Sunday school, are we? Well done." He praises and I smile.

"I enjoy being at church." I say, my arms going behind my back.

"Ah, yes, church." He says, looking around. "God's house, it's a sanctuary, if nothing else. What happened with Wendla there?"

"An accident." I reply quickly. "We both tripped and Wendla got angry because I accidentally landed on her."

"Ah, yes. An accident."

Father Kahlbach then takes me to light a candle, helping Wendla light hers as I do so. Wendla's face is a mask, showing little or no emotion.

Sunday school begins an hour later and children pour in, taking their seats in the church. Father Kahlbach goes up to the podium, his book in hand.

"Ilse Frei?" He asks and an astounding silence fills the room. He takes a pen and writes something. "Des anyone know where Ilse is? She has been missing for the past two weeks."

Another silence. He looks down at the book and continues.

"Marianna Wheelan?" He asks and Anna stands up, curtseys, and sits down. "Georg Zierschnitz?" He asks and Geog stands up, bows and sits down. "Hanschen Prilow?" and Hanschen does the same. "Thea Verrat?" He asks and Thea jumps up, not bothering to curtsey and sits down.

He laughs and shakes his head before reading the next name. "Moritz Stiefel?" and another silence fills the room. I glance around and, indeed, he is nowhere to be seen. Father Kahlbach tuts and writes something else in his book. "Does anyone know where Moritz is?" He asks.

"He's my next door neighbor and I haven't seen him all day, Father." Hanschen calls out. Father Kahlbach sighs and begins a sermon.

I hear a patter of feet and my eyes turn to see Wendla Bergman sliding out of her seat and walking to the slightly open side door. Father Kahlbach seems to not have noticed, too engaged in his sermon and she slips out the door, into the light of day.

My mind continued to wonder, and I stared blankly at Father Kahlbach. Did Wendla's father beat her? I had often spoken to Mr. Bergman in afternoon church and he had always seemed like such a kind, gentle man, whereas my father was outgoing, rough, a drunk as well. It seemed impossible that sweet, gentle, little Wendla Bergman would have ever been beaten. But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Wendla wasn't the oblivious airhead that I had always put her down to be.

"Children, now we will sing the song that we learned last week." Father Kahlbach calls and we stand up, picking up our books. The organ starts and we begin.

"I fly to the future, I fly to the start, of the rivers that bring love and flow from my heart!" We cry, desperately out of tune but Father Kahlbach smiles and nods, singing along.

I love church. It is as he says. A sanctuary.


	10. Blindness

Alright. Enough of that pathetic little sob story about poor, sad, little Martha. I'm sick of it. I hated being around friends. They tried to talk to me but I didn't want to listen. I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening, that I wasn't being hounded into a part of myself that I had never been before.

It's funny, though. When you are down there, so low that you are unable to believe that it was really happening, you begin to appreciate the little beautiful things. On the way home from lessons, I would stop to examine the wildflowers growing in the cracks of the pavement. Each petal was perfectly constructed, as if tiny elves had taken out their tools and carved into it, to make it the piece of art that it was. The colors would vary, some flowers being a vivid orange, others being a light pink. I would occasionally come across a stunning orange rose and would stop for a while, just to watch it.

I was just running home from a storm. The rain fell on me from all sides, draining my hair and dress of any life it had. Mama was in the kitchen, as she always was and she greeted me with a large cloth, helping me dry my hair off. Your eyes, though, they were dead. The usual light that shone in them had gone out and your shoulders were hunched. I asked you what was wrong and you told me.

"Martha, I just received a call from Frau Stiefel." You said slowly and sigh. "I was told that Moritz has… has tragically passed away."

I stare at you, stunned.

It makes sense. Sunday school, his absence, his jumpiness when I spoke to him.

"H-how did he pass, Mama?" My voice trembles.

"He was found in the west side of the forest, in a small clearing. It would appear that" You purse your lips. "He had killed himself."

"You can do that, Mama?" I ask, appalled. "You can really kill yourself?"

You look at me, suddenly terrified. "Yes, Martha, but I only happens to the ones truly lost." You suddenly run towards me, dropping to your knees in front, placing your hands on each shoulder. "Martha, listen to me. You don't ever need to think that. Never kill yourself, please. No matter what life, or your friends or even your father does to you!"

You suddenly stop, your hand clasped on your mouth and back away, rising to your feet.

"You- you know about that, Mama?" I ask, staring up at you.

You look at me now, your face almost angry. "I know a lot of things, Martha, as you might not have noticed, I'm not blind. Now if you will excuse me, we will have to prepare for Moritz's funeral, it is taking place on Saturday."

You stride out of the room, you head high and I almost feel like screaming.

You knew! You knew all along and you never did anything to try and save me!

At that moment, I wondered if I truly did have a mother.


	11. Your Fault

"We are gathered here today, not to celebrate, but to mourn. A death is a tragedy that is difficult to get through, but we can be good neighbors to the families whom have suffered the loss of a loved one. Now, let us all hold hands and pray for Moritz Stiefel, who we will always hold close in our hearts."

My hands are grasped by Anna and Hanschen, who look solemn. Across the cemetery, I can see Wendla, Thea and Ilse sitting together. Ilse came back last week. She hasn't spoken to anyone but Wendla since she returned, none of us know why. And Wendla. She looks pale, so pale, and beads of sweat make their way down her head, even though it is a cool afternoon. Perhaps she is coming down with a fever.

"Thank you. Now, will all the children please come up, one by one, to pay their respects to a lost friend?" The Father Kahlbach pauses and looks at us. "Herr, Stiefel, would you like to begin?"

Herr Stiefel nods sullenly and goes to the front to pick out a garland of flowers. He walks slowly towards the pit in the ground where we all know Moritz lies. We watch, anticipating his next move. Herr Stiefel was never known to have been a kind man. On the contrary, he had a reputation for being the strictest father in the village. He pauses, watching it, and makes to put it in, but only to back away slowly instead.

He looks at Frau Gabor in a panic. She nods and walks closer, picking up her own bunch of flowers and taking Herr Stiefel's place.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, as the flowers fall into the hole.

Next to go up is Anna. She trembles and shakes as she picks a flower and drops it in. She looks over at her Mama, who nods in approval, then walks back to her seat next to me.

"Martha?" Father Kahlbach nods at me and I realize that I'm next. I get to my feet, trying to ignore the eyes watching me.

I choose some blue flowers, to match Moritz's blue eyes, then walk over to the side of the hole and look in.

There he is. He looks just the same, only his eyes are closed and there is a bandage wound round his head.

"Moritz." Is the only thing I can whisper and I drop the flower in. It lands in the middle of his chest, giving the impression that he is holding it.

Fighting back tears, I make my way to my seat and sit down slowly. Hanschen goes up next, followed by Ernst and Otto. Then Wendla walks up and picks up a pink flower. As she walks to the pit, I follow her eyes, and she is looking at Melchior. But that look. It was so longing, so confused. She moved to the pit and dropped it in, without looking at Moritz. I look back at Melchior. He is staring at Herr Stiefel with a look that can only be described as pure hatred. It was understandable why. Among the children, it was understood that Moritz's father was the reason for his death.

Thea, then Georg walk up to put their flowers in. Ilse then goes and chooses a deep purple flower. She loves those flowers. No-one knew the name of them when she asked, so she calls them Purple Summers. She pads her way softly to the grave and looks down. I crane to see her face but her long, thick hair covers it from view. She raised one arm out and drops it in, before backing away like she had just been stung. She walks away, but instead of sitting back next to Wendla, she goes through the crowd and through the graves, until she finds a tree, and settles herself under it, her head in her hands.

Melchi then walks over to the pit and drops in a large white flower, his face solemn.

Herr Stiefel waddles over to the pit, his now wilted flower still in his hand. He looks at it for a while, his face unreadable, slowly extends his arm and drops it in. Then, as if someone struck him, his hands clasp his chest and he sinks to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. There's a silence as we watch, dumbfounded. Frau Gabor hurries over to the pit and helps him up, comforting him all the way back to his seat.

"And now, let us all rise and say a prayer." Father Kahlbach says, raising his hands. We stand and begin.

"For he that spurns the grace with which the Eternal Father blesses all that are born in sin, he shall die the death of the spirit. He who has lived steeped in evil and, in his pride, denies the worship due to God, he shall die the death of the body. But he who has wickedly cast off the cross that the Almighty has lain upon his back for his sins, with the utmost veracity I say to you, he shall die the eternal death. Let us, we who continue to walk this path of thorns, praise the All Merciful Lord and thank him for the ineffable gift of predestination. For as surely as this boy dies the three-fold death, as surely will the Lord God lead us to salvation and eternal life."

But I can't concentrate. I keep on looking at Ilse. I slip out of my seat and manage to get round the adults without being seen. There she is, sitting under the trees, obviously crying.

"Ilse!" I cry, running towards her. She looks up and quickly hides her face, but I have already seen it. Her eyes are red and her hair sticks around her face.

"What is it, Martha?" She asks, an irritated tone to her voice.

"I just thought that I would come and sit with you, you seemed upset." I plop down next to her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looks at her knees. "I talked to him. The other day. I was just walking away when he did it. I even heard the gunshot."

"What?" I am shocked to hear it. "You talked to him?"

"Yes. My Mama told me that it wasn't my fault, that he was gone anyway…"

"What do you mean?" I interrupt her, moving onto my knees. "You had a chance to stop him and you didn't?"

She looks at me, frightened. "No, it wasn't like that!"

"It's your fault he's dead, isn't it?" I suddenly say, staring at her, everything coming to me. "You didn't stop him, so now he's gone! It's all your fault!"

I'm starting to shout now. I am so livid. It was all Ilse.

"No!" She cries. "Please don't say that!"

"You left me behind!" I rise to my feet and look down at her. "I was hurting as much as you were and you left without me! You saved yourself and didn't come back for me!"

She looks close to tears again now. I should really stop but I can't. I'm so angry.

"You had a chance to help me live as well and you forgot me!" I shout, pacing around. "And now you do the same to Moritz!"

"Martha, I'm sorry." She whispers.

I look at her. "I thought you were my friend, Ilse." I say, walking off.

Moritz, Moritz, where are you?

Why did you have to leave?

* * *

**A/N This one was quite fun to write, actually. I got a lot of ideas from the original play, by Frank Wedekind, for instance the prayer. Actually, at the end of this scene in the play, Martha and Ilse do actually have a dialogue. However, they are talking about what flowers to place over the grave, not so much arguing. Thought it was cool x)**


	12. Sweet and Unknown

Ilse stayed on in her house, much to my distain. I kept my distance, playing with Anna and Thea and leaving Ilse and Wendla to play on their own. We would look over at them from across the church yard and while we played games, such as hide and seek, they would sit in the shades of the trees and talk. They seemed to like it better that way, so who was I to question them?

Wendla started to look worse and worse. Maybe her father was beating her. It would explain the bags under her eyes because she could never sleep, like me.

Another thing that changed was that the boys always hung around us. Perhaps we had all grown up since last spring or they were falling apart because of Moritz. But they hung around us like flies to a smell.

No, that's not right. That sounds like it was bad that they were around. Quite the contrary, we were all broken in some way and being all together made us feel stronger, if not united. The only boy who was never really there was Melchi Gabor. But I didn't mind, Melchior was too philosophical, he made me feel stupid. Anna reluctantly agreed with this but Thea insisted that he was the best thing in this world since chocolate pastries came into existence. Well, she had another thing coming; Melchi only seemed to have eyes for Wendla. For some reason, this bugged me to no end. Wendla was a selfish airhead who didn't know anything about real pain and yet she got Melchior's sympathy.

"Did you hear what happened to Melchior Gabor?" Otto runs up to us in the afternoon-lit church courtyard, panting desperately. He waits a bit to see our puzzled expressions then launches into the story. "He wrote an essay for Moritz and got expelled!"

This causes a lot of commotion in the group and some turn to their friends to talk about it, while others simply gasp and try and get more out of Otto.

"Wait!" Anna cries. "He got expelled for writing an essay? How do you get expelled for that?"

This is obviously the part the Otto was dying to say. "It was entitled 'The Art of Making Love"' He smirks and the boys break out in hoots of laughter. The girls, however, regard each other with quizzical expressions.

"The art of making what?" Anna asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, you don't know!" Otto cries in mock surprise, laughing. "I expect they don't teach you that in your 'Lady Lessons!" Well, girls would be too immature to learn it anyway!"

The other boys begin to kneel over in laughter, some wiping their eyes. Anna looks put out and takes a step back, her arms crossed. "Come on, let's go and leave these stupid creatures alone." She directs the last part to Otto, glaring dangerously, and stalks off in the other direction. Thea and I reluctantly follow her but I feel someone grab my arm.

"Will you take a walk with me, Martha?" Georg's gentle voice calls and I turn to him. "Through the forest a bit?"

I pause, unsure of what to do. "I… I have to go home for supper in a minute!"

"It's okay, I can walk you home!" He exclaims and a shy smile creeps on his face. "I thought we could have a talk."

I can walk with him and be late for supper. And doing that, I can escape my father for tonight if he goes to the pub.

I smile and straighten myself up. "Alright, what can five minutes hurt?"

He smiles in return and we turn towards the start of the forest, walking deeper into it. I heep my hands behind my back and he keeps his in front of him.

"Shall we sit a bit?" He gestures to the base of a tree. I nod and slide myself into the corner of the trunk. He plops himself down next to me and we both lean against the bark.

"It's a nice evening, isn't it?" He says, looking up at the sky, which was beginning to streak with pink and purple light.

"Yes." I say, looking up at it. "Just perfect."

"Otto said that Melchior is going to be sent to a reformatory."

I turn to him in shock. "Really? But reformatories are only if you do something really terrible!"

Georg shrugs. "Obviously this essay of 'Making love' deemed inappropriate."

We both look back up to the clouds, submerged in his own thoughts until he turns to me.

"Martha, can I ask you a question?" He says, looking at me.

"Yes, of course." I say curiously.

He watches me for another minute. "Have you ever had a kiss before?"

I am so startled by this question that I jump, hitting my head against the bark of the tree. "Well, yes, my mother kisses me, my aunty does, my grandmother does it a lot, my-"

"That's not what I mean." He interrupts.

I look into his chocolate brown eyes. So full of trust, so full of something else that I can't put my finger on. How can I respond? I have been kissed like that, but both are painful to think about. My father. Moritz. Oh, Moritz, it hurts so much to think about you.

I remain silent and his inquisitive eyes bore into mine. They seem like they're getting closer, but perhaps it's just me. Closer and closer, then I feel something else.

Our lips touch. It's gentle, almost afraid and his eyes are closed. I feel his hand slip onto my cheek and he pulls me closer into the kiss. As if by themselves, my arm goes around his neck and his hand goes on my waist.

We sit there like this for a bit, our bodies touching but so still, except for our lips, moving together in perfect harmony.

Almost automatically, we move, so that I am lying against the tree and he is leaning over me, kissing me like that. My eyes are closed but I long to open them, to experience this with every sense possible.

His hand moves from my waist to my thigh, then lower, until it is at the hem of my dress. Georg pulls away and looks at me questioningly. I hesitate for a minute, then slowly nod. He goes back to kissing me and his hand starts to move up on the inside of my dress.

He starts to do things to me that have already been done before, things that have left me with scars, both physically and mentally. But it's so different. It's gentler, as if he is concerned about hurting me. And I start to feel things that I didn't even know I could feel. It feels good, like fire and ice, going together perfectly and I kiss him more and more as he does what he's doing. It feels so good, better and better until it feels incredible, the best feeling I've ever had.

Then it goes. Just like that. The good feelings. The gentleness.

Gone.

I pull away from Georg and look at him, stunned. He is sweating a lot, despite the sun having gone down and his eyes are half open, looking at me with something I can't describe.

We watch each other for a moment. I don't want to move first, don't want to be the one to say that this was something wrong. We both knew it, though. Sweet and unknown, but wrong.

"I should go." I whisper. "It's getting darker."

He nods and moves over, to give me space to get up. We both stand and I smooth down my dress and turn to him.

"Goodnight, Georg." I say, leaning in to peck him on the cheek, then turn and run though the darkening forest, branches hitting me. I need to get away as fast as I can because already I feel tears coming.

I finally get to the road and look over. There's father's pub. Perhaps he got tired after dinner and went there for the evening.

If there is a God, please, please let father have gone to the pub. Please.

What had just happened? I knew what he was doing but I didn't know those feelings. It felt so much better than anything father ever did to me. I didn't know that with that type of thing, one could feel so…

Good.

I wipe away a tear from my cheek and hurry down the street, faking smiles for any old ladies sticking their heads out of their windows to check on me. I see my house at the end of the road.

Please, God, please, please, please. I pray with each step.

Please, God, please, please, please.

Please, God, please, please, please.

Please, God, please, please, please.

Please, God, please, please, please.

Please don't let him be home.

Please.

I yank open the door and my prayers go unanswered.

"Someone's home late." And the belt rises.

* * *

**A/N: I just feel like I need to make... maybe not an apology but more of an explanation for this chapter. **

**I wrote it, knowing what I had in mind, what I wanted and I thought it was great. Then I read it back and realized that I had just written a lime. **

**And I didn't want to change it :P**

**I don't know, I guess I just sorta wanted Martha to have at least one nice sexual encounter. I mean, we can safely say that any encounters with her father were not pleasant. And I re-watched the musical on my laptop yesterday (Thank you, Youtube downloader) and thought that Georg would be perfect for Martha (you know, after Moritz) because he seemed genuine and gentle and I think Martha needed that. **

**I hope you also noticed the little Anna/Otto thing I had there ;) If you read Spring and Summer, this makes sense to you, if not, go read Spring and Summer, please!**

**But sorry it took so long to update, I had to take three planes in a row, a train ride and a five-hour car ride, then I was too exhausted to do anything but watch Dreamgirls on my Grandma's television. I only managed to start writing two days after I arrived.**

**But, I'm sorry if I offended anyone with this chapter, although you should have been more offended with chapter three, where it's her father. But thanks for reading and review, please! xx**


	13. Screams In The Night

"MAMA!"

I heard a scream that pierced the dark, silent night. I sat up in bed, utterly terrified and quickly tried to look out of my window for the source of the cry. Nothing. It was so still down there. And so dark. The only light on was the one at the doctor's house but he always had it on. He was probably helping a child who had come down with anemia.

I lay back in bed, trying to get that scream out of my mind. But no matter how hard I tried, it still echoed around in my head. It had significance.

It was the scream of an ending.

* * *

"Did you hear?"

"About what?"

"What happened to Wendla."

"Oh, yes, my Mama told me! Isn't it awful?"

"She's never coming back."

Whispers were all over the church yard as the latest piece of gossip grew more and more.

Mama had told me last night. Wendla Bergman had been kidnapped by the artists, as Ilse had before. Mama said that Frau Bergman had heard something in their garden, looked out, and a man was running off with Wendla! She had tried to chase him but he was too fast and she had fainted.

I didn't know how much I believed this story. It was too probable, too obvious to be true. But who knew? We had heard of people from neighboring villages being kidnapped, why couldn't it happen to Wendla?

"Father Kahlbach wants us all to pray for her today in Sunday School." Anna said as she threaded the stalk of a daisy into another one, making another of her immeasurably long daisy chains.

"That seems fair. I would want people to pray from me if I was kidnapped." Thea says, playing with her plait.

"Do you think that she really was kidnapped?" I ask them. They regard me as if I had just eaten one of Otto's dug up caterpillars.

"Of course she was." Anna exclaims. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"Well, perhaps she ran away." I suggest.

"Why would she run away?" Anna exclaims, tearing a ligament in her daisy chain.

"She might have been unhappy."

"But my Mama said that she had been kidnapped, so that must be true." Anna announces with an air of finality. Oh, how I longed to still idolize my mother but since our incident, she has been distant, as if she never saw me to begin with.

Perhaps Melchi Gabor was right about one thing. Adults really couldn't be trusted.

* * *

**A/N This was more of a bridge chapter than anything else. I felt that since the last chapter with Georg, I just needed to continue it on in some way. Please, review! xx**


	14. A Different Kind of Pain

I hate dinnertime. Mama avoids everyone's eyes and father glares at me, making my insides churn as I think of the obvious outcome after the meal.

But this meal was to change my life and my way of thinking.

Father had stood up, as one usually did when they had an announcement.

"I have something to say." He declared and we looked up at him expectantly. "I have been thinking a lot and it is time to settle some future plans for Martha."

He looks at us us but we are still, watching intently so he continues.

"So I have decided. She is to be married next month, to a good friend of mine, Hans Fritzherb."

Mama gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. I am still, silent and shocked.

I know about Hans Fritzherb. He is my father's age and owns a butcher shop in the middle of town. Every time I see him, his hands and shirt are covered in pig's blood. It disgusts me. I cant's marry him. I can't.

"But, Frank!" My mother starts, running up to my father and putting her hands on his cheeks. "You cannot be thinking to marry her off to one of your friends! Martha is young, she shall marry a young man!"

My father grabs her shoulders. "Do not patronize me, Lea." He hisses. "I will not speak about this anymore. Martha shall marry Hans and that is that. She is my daughter, she is mine to give to who I like!"

But for once, Mama will have none of it. "I will not let you throw away our child's life on one of your friends! Martha is young and she should live a full life!"

"You cannot tell me what to do, you are only my wife!" Father is almost laughing at Mama.

"Only your wife?" Mama whispers angrily. "I don't want Martha to be 'only a wife'. I want her to be freer than I am, free enough to make her own choices, she will not marry this man!" My mother declares.

"Do not tell me what to do with my daughter, I know best! SHE IS MINE TO GIVE HOWEVER I LIKE!" My father bellows, sizing my mother up.

"WHY? BECAUSE YOU TREAT HER AS YOUR WHORE EVERY SINGLE NIGHT?" My mother screams and I hear a deafening crack as my father's hand whips round and lands on her cheek. I watch in horrible slow motion as she falls to the floor, clutching her face, silent tears streaming down her face.

Father looks down at Mama. "I have made up my mind. Martha is to be married in a month and no-one can stop me."

With one last defiant look at me, he marched out of the room. My mother looks up at me.

"I am so sorry, Martha." She whispers. "I am so, so sorry." She starts crying, almost screaming with anguish and it takes me a while to realize that waves of tears are going down my cheeks.

"Come here, my sweetheart." Mama holds out her arms and I slide off my chair and curl up next to her, as I did when I was a little girl with a hurt leg.

But this pain is different. This pain will take a lot more than a bandage and a kiss better to fix.

And it's a funny thing, really. As my mother rocks me back and forth and I sob into her shoulder, I cannot think about father, or later tonight or even Hans.

I could only think about Georg.

And it scared me to no end.

* * *

**A/N Soo, yeah. Here it is. Review!**


	15. Dreamland

To my relief, I didn't hear from father for the rest of the night. Mama held me on the dining room floor for another hour, then took me to bed. However, I was still terrified of what father would do if he came in, so she slept in my bed with me. For the first time in seven years, I felt truly close to my mother. It felt wonderful.

I spent more and more time with my friends. I was trying to see them as much as possible before the inevitable happened. I kept the whole thing to myself, not wanting to burden my friends with my problems.

I also saw a lot of Georg. He was so incredible to be around that everyday I found myself liking him more and more until every single time I saw him, my stomach went fluttering like I had swallowed a jar of butterflies. I fancied Moritz, true, but it never felt like this. We had kissed occasionally, but it was never as… intense as the last time.

Ilse had gone again. No-one knew where she had gone and Thea had never heard anything from her house. I assume she has run away again, not that I particularly care. She has demonstrated time and time again how little she cares about me, here is my turn to demonstrate to her. Thea, however, is convinced that she had been kidnapped along with Wendla and this theory has had the grown ups making us go out in groups to look for her and pray that she makes it home well.

"Shall we go round the church to the forest?" Thea suggested, jumping up on one of the paving stones on the street.

"Yes! Then we can pick garlands of those lovely lavender flowers that have started growing!" Anna cries, turning to me. "What do you think, Martha?"

"Definitely." I nod quickly. "Mama wanted me to pick some of those flowers for her."

So we go round the church, picking up handfuls of sprigs of lavender, breathing in their mesmerizing perfume and chatting about nothing in particular. I am having such a good time that I actually forget for a moment about the inevitable. I just concentrated on being a child, a skill that I had lost long, long ago.

We spent the afternoon in the forest, choosing wildflowers and various leaves to go into our spectacular bouquets. In the end, we each have the most bizarre assortment of lavender, dandelions, chestnuts and pine cones. We are laughing so hard at our creations that time runs past and we find ourselves wandering among the trees come dusk. We both agree to leave our bouquets under the large oak and would meet back here after lunch tomorrow. With that, we part ways, leaving only calls of goodbye and wishes for a good night.

I watch Thea run up the steps into her house and Anna be welcomed at the front door by her mother. They both wave at me and wish me a safe way home but they don't know that I don't plan on going home for a long time. No, I plan on staying out, on spending the remaining hours of the first day of my last week by myself.

And only when I am alone, walking back towards the church to enter the forest again do I trust myself to think of the inevitable. The wedding. My wedding.

The date had been set. It was to be on Saturday, only seven days from now, a quiet affair in the church. Mama had already been forced to find me a dress, a long white one with a lace on the bodice and sleeves and a long stain skirt. When I first saw it, I was thrilled to finally have a grown up dress. For so long I had been running around in my boring sackcloth knee-length, and finally, a long one! I was ecstatic until I realized what it was. Then, I couldn't bear to look at it, not even glance in the mirror when I was trying it on.

Mama's face when I was trying it on was unbearable. She looked so pained, so hurt about it. I had asked her why.

"Oh, Martha." She had said. "You are such a beautiful girl and the dress is lovely but I could have given it to you as a coming-of-age gift. Martha, I have been a terrible mother to you. I have let your father get away with horrible, horrible things, things you never should have witnessed and have only put my foot down now, when it is too late. Oh, darling, you don't deserve to be trying on my choice of a wedding dress now, especially not for this wedding. You deserve to choose your own dress and marry whoever you want, whenever you want. I have tried and tried to stop this wedding, yet your father will not be moved. I am so sorry, Martha. You deserve so much better." You had started crying then, taking me into your arms and letting your tears fall over me.

Stop it, Martha. Stop thinking of that, otherwise that nosy old lady sticking her head out of the window will never leave you alone. Get to the forest now and sit under your special tree, as you do every night.

I finally get through the darkening silhouettes of the trees and reach the special one. I remember it so well. I sit down where I had sat only a month before with Georg and for the first time felt something amazing.

And as I always do, I lean my head back and let my mind wander, let it lull me into that Dreamland that it called sleep.

I had just reached it and it was bliss. I was in a land where there were no grownups, we could do whatever we liked. Anna and Thea went to the fairground every day and ate chocolate pastries until they came out their ears. The boys didn't have to go to school and were in the park instead. Moritz was alive and well. Melchior was out of that place. Wendla and Ilse were back and we had made up. And I could have the peace of going to sleep without the fear of father coming. I was allowed to marry whoever I like and I chose Georg. We could live forever without any sort of fear.

He's calling me now. "Martha." I can hear him. "Martha, wake up." And again. "Martha."

And I felt something else. A hand on my shoulder, shaking me.

"Martha."

And I open my eyes.

The Dreamland was just a fantasy. Although I suppose I always knew it was, it's still such a shock coming back down.

"Martha?" I look up and through the deep darkness of night, my eyes meet Georg's worried ones.

"Georg!" I start, hitting my head against the tree. "What are you doing here at this time?"

He looks around. "Well, I was coming back from Otto's house, I was there practicing Virgil. And you?" He fixes his eye on me.

I sigh and stand up. "Nothing. I just don't like being at my house. So I come out here every evening!" I spread my arms.

He smiles at me. "Would you like me to walk you to your house?" At the look on my face, he hastily says. "No, would you like to come for supper at my house?"

I smile at him. "Alright. I would love to."

He takes my hand and we walk out of the forest, towards the village. We reach his house and he knocks on the door then turns to me.

"Listen, don't worry about anything that my mother might do, she's strange but so sweet, she'll love you-" Georg is cut off by the door opening and a young, frail woman greets us at the door.

"Georg!" She cries. "What time do you call this? Your dinner is almost cold! You're lucky that I kept it in the oven for a bit longer! I have to go to your Aunt Euda soon! And who is this?" Her gaze moves to me and I am suddenly very aware of my grass-stained dress and wet hair.

"Mama, this is Martha." Georg puts a hand behind my back, pushing me forward a bit. "I was wondering if she could have dinner here."

Georg's mother looks at Georg for a moment before a huge smile breaks on her face. "Martha! Of course! I'll just warm a plate up for you! Do come in!" She holds the door open so that we can both walk in. "Please, take a seat, I won't be a moment." She disappears and Georg nods towards a chair around a tiny dining table. I sit down and he sits next to me.

"I'm sorry about her." He whispers.

I laugh quietly. "No, I think she's lovely!"

"She's always like this, don't worry too much about her sanity." He laughs as well.

"And is your father like this?" I ask.

His face turns solemn again. "I wouldn't know. My father died when I was a child."

I stop. "I'm sorry."

He smiles slowly. "It's alright. I never knew him."

"Here we are!" Georg's mother hurries into the room with two plates in her hands. "Georg, I have to run out to your Aunt Euda's now to help her with her two boys so I expect you to walk Martha home and put yourself to bed!"

"Yes, Mama." Georg smiles at her.

"Goodnight." She comes closer and kisses him on the cheek. "It was nice meeting you, Martha." She says, turning to me.

"You too." I say. "Thank you for dinner."

"Anytime. Goodnight!" She opens the door and walks out.

We have our dinner with little conversation then go into the kitchen to clean up after ourselves.

"So your mother raised you all by herself?" I ask, rinsing off my plate in the soapy water.

"Yes. She has been incredible, by all means." He says, carrying over another pail of clean water. "But it isn't easy without a father. Mama works as a seamstress but sometimes we don't have enough money."

I nod. "It must be difficult to raise a child by one's self."

He looks up excitedly. "I do have one picture of my father though. I look a bit like him. Do you want to see?"

"Alright."

"Come with me." He grabs my wrist and takes me to the back of the house where there is a long, steep staircase that opens into the attic. I am surprised to see that there is a bed up here.

"Georg… is this where you sleep?" I ask, thoroughly impressed.

"Yes, isn't it wonderful?" He says, walking over to his bed and sitting on the edge of it. "I can lie here and look out of that little window and do nothing."

"It's amazing." I walk over and sit next to him.

He looks down under his bed until he finds a small wooden box filled with children's toys and bits of paper. He rummages around until he finds one yellowing piece of paper which he presents to me. It's a man in an army hat with a mustache.

"You see?" He points at the man. "My mother says that I look like him."

I take the picture and look hard. Indeed, Georg has the same eyes and nose, however his mouth is recognizably his mother's.

"It's remarkable how much you do, actually."

Georg smiles, looking at the photo. "I like to think that I look like him. It makes me feel closer to him, less like he's dead."

I pass the photo back and Georg puts it in the box. "You don't need to try and believe anything. You two look so similar. Was he in the army?"

"Yes. He was a general."

"He must have been brave."

"Mother says that he was."

"I wish that I could be brave."

Georg looks at me. "You are brave! I have seen into your eyes, you are in a fight as we speak. And you must be brave to be able to carry on!"

I lean forward and silence him with a kiss on his mouth. He starts, then puts his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss grows more and more urgent and I grab the sides of his face, still wanting more. And he gives me more, leaning us back and letting us lie on his bed.

We kiss so madly, our hearts beating together. I find my hands on his suspenders, trying to bring them down his arms and his hands are on the back of my dress, undoing the buttons. We strip each other until we are lying on the bed with nothing to protect us apart from the blanket, thrown carelessly over our bodies. He kisses me one more time.

What happens next is magic. I cannot describe it any other way. Georg is so close to me, and closer until he is one with me and we are moving together in a rhythm. It hits us so hard that I grip the back of his head for support and he puts his arms around my back, pulling me closer still. We go through this magic once, twice, then a third time, each time more wonderful than the last, until he is on top of me, panting, looking into my eyes.

"I love you, Martha." He whispers before kissing me and moving to lie next me on the bed.

"I love you, Georg." And as I say it, I realize that I mean it. He puts his arms around me and I breathe into his chest, his chin resting on my head.

We stay like this, perfectly together, until the morning rooster wakes us up from Dreamland and back into reality.

* * *

**A/N I really liked this chapter, I must say x) **

**I really like writing lime, I might do a lot more or maybe take after your footsteps, MRSCULLEN1122 and write a spanking fanfic, just to try!**

**I got inspiration for this lime because I have just finished the Noughts and Crosses series and I based the lime on the one in the first book so in case I am accused of plagiarism. **

**And so please, an applause for the longest chapter in the fanfic!**

**I have decided, there will be two or three more chapters to this fanfic, apart from the epilogue. But don't worry, I have a new fanfic that I have written the first chapter to. This is a Melchior POV one.**

**Please review! Xx **


	16. You Can't!

"It's a shame that those wildflowers wilted last night!"

We are in the forest recovering out dead garlands. I should have suspected, they wouldn't make it through till morning.

This morning I left Georg's quickly, deciding that it wouldn't be wise to stay longer. I didn't go home though, I decided to stay out and wait for Anna and Thea. Georg stayed with me a bit, until he had to go to school. Oh, every time I think about last night, a shiver goes down my spine. It was so wonderful.

"Oh well." Anna looks down to inspect a scratch on her leg.

"What happened to you?" Thea asks.

Anna glares at it. "It was that stupid boy Otto. He tricked me into walking into some brambles this morning!"

Thea giggles. "I think he might like you a bit more than you suspect!"

Anna looks horrified. "Oh, good Lord, no! I could never dream of marrying him!"

Thea looks at her teasingly. "Well, you might change your mind."

Anna shakes her head. "Never ever. And you? Do you think that you will marry Melchior Gabor?"

Thea sighs and hits the ground with a stick. "A while ago, I would have said yes but now he's gone to that place, our engagement is in danger of being ruined!"

We laugh and Anna turns to me. "Who do you think you'll marry, Martha?"

My smile leaves my face and I turn away from them. "I don't know." I mumble.

"What's wrong?" Yes, Anna was always quick to see a problem.

"Nothing's wrong." I walk over to a patch of dandelions and pick one, blowing on it so that all of the seeds go flying into oblivion.

"Yes, something is wrong!" Anna comes closer and grabs my arm. "Tell me."

I look at her. "Are you sure you want to know?"

She nods, her eyes locked onto me.

I sigh and close my eyes as I speak. "I cannot choose who I am marrying because it has already been chosen. I am already engaged."

Anna gasps and Thea covers her mouth with her hand.

"Who?" Anna grabs my arm.

"Georg?" Thea moves her hand down to hold the other one behind her back. "You have been speaking to him a lot and Hanschen Prilow said he saw you two kiss!"

I shake my head and feel the tears coming back. "No. Father says that I am to marry Herr Fritzherb come Saturday."

"The butcher?" Thea cries, running over to me. I nod and her face is scandalized.

"But… how?" Anna looks puzzled. "He's an old man! You cannot marry him!"

"I have to." The tears are coming steadily now. "Father says I have to."

"Run away!" Thea grabs my hands. "Go somewhere far off, anything! Do not marry him!"

"I can't run away, Thea!" I pull away to wipe my eyes. "He'll kill me if he finds me! I'm already in trouble because I didn't go home last night! I haven't been back since lunchtime yesterday!"

"Oh, Martha." Anna pulls me into a hug. "I wish that I could help you! I'm going to try and help anyway!"

"Anna, no!" I cry, pulling away. "You'll only make it worse!"

They both look sorry for me, though I try to act like it's nothing. Brush away your tears, put on a smile and suggest another activity usually works, but this time I can't no matter how much I try, I can't make them or myself pretend that it's not happening. I end up crying into Anna's cotton covered shoulder while Thea pats me on the back and gives me kisses on my forehead. And I went home to my mother that night. Despite all the fear, I went home.

Because by then, I just wanted to curl up with her and go to sleep, as I had so many times before.


	17. Heartache, With Its Sorrows

Acid stings my nose and my eyes water as I only just make it outside behind a bush to empty out the contents of my stomach. I hate vomiting, especially just after I've just eaten. I've been vomiting a lot, I think it has something to do with the wedding. At least that's what Mama says. I cough and wipe my mouth, walking back into the house, coming face to face with her.

"Sick again?" She asks and I nod miserably. "Come, let's get you cleaned off. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, just nerves are making your stomach ill." She guides me into the kitchen to sit on a stool and begins to wipe my face off with a wet flannel. "When I was younger, about to marry your father, I was very nervous. I wasn't sick as you were but I bit my nails."

"You bit your nails?" I look at her hands. "Your nails are perfect!"

She looks down. "Only because I let them grow." She goes back to dabbing my head before touching it with the back of her hand. "No temperature." She murmurs quietly. She pulls away to look at me then suddenly jumps away away, dropping the rag and looking at me in horror.

"Mama, what is it?" I sit up, shocked at her suddenness and she rubs her face.

"God help us all." She whispers. "God help us all."

"Mama?" I put my hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She looks back at me, her face composed. "I'm fine. Now, you run off and see your friends. You don't have long before you won't be able to."

I nod and jump off the chair, running out of the house. Getting out, I pick up a stick and whack the ground with it, digging it in. If I should suffer so, the ground should as well. I drop the stick and chuckle at another of my stupid statements. I have been truly mad for the past few days, saying stupid things that I don't mean.

My smile vanishes as I remember where I am going. I have decided that I am going to see Georg. I need to speak to him about the wedding and it's going to be awful.

I get to his house and knock twice on the door. A shout, a bang that sounds like pans falling and the sound of scraping chairs and the door opens to Georg's mother.

"Hello?" She looks at me.

"Hello, I was wondering if Georg is in."

She opens the door wider. "Ah, yes! Martha! It's been a while, how are you? No, it hasn't been a while, it was a week ago, wasn't it? Georg!" She calls up to the stairs leading to the attic. "Your friend Martha is here to see you!" She turns back to me. "He really likes you, did you know that? He's always talking about how wonderful you are!"

As if I wasn't nervous enough.

I hear the sound of running footsteps and Georg appears on the stairs. "Martha." He breathes, smiling at me.

"Hello Georg." I smile at him as well.

I feel the butterflies again.

Georg turns to his mother. "Mama, can I go out for a little bit? I will be back before dark."

"Alright, alright." His mother rolls her eyes, winking at me.

Georg comes down the stairs and pulls me out of the house and we run along the path out of the house towards the church yard, then to the forest. We stop, out of breath and find our tree to sit down under.

"What do you want to do then?" Georg puts his hand on my cheek.

"Georg, I need to say something." I say, turning to him, fear evident in my eyes.

"What is it?" He says with a teasing tone. He thinks that I am being funny.

I have to do this quickly. It'll hurt less.

"Georg, I can't be with you like this anymore." I say, shutting my eyes tight. His hand drops.

I open my eyes to see him looking at me, his mouth half hanging open. "Wh-what do you mean?"

I take a deep breath. Quickly and painlessly. "I am engaged to be married."

I turn away. His face was heartbreaking. His eyes were so full of pain and betrayal.

"I'm so sorry, Georg." I try to coax him back by putting my hand on his arm. "Please, please, forgive me."

He looks back at me. "You're engaged?"

I nod, unable to say anymore. He looks like he's about to cry.

"Y-you're eng-gaged?" He repeats, his voice getting choked up and I have to swallow hard to stop me from crying.

"I am so, so sorry." I say again, taking his face into my hands but he shakes them off, standing up.

"Martha, how could you not tell me about this?" He cries down at me. "How could you? You know how much I cared about you! I cared about you, I loved you!"

"Loved me?" I whisper, looking up at him.

"I can't love you anymore!" He shouts. "I can't, you're getting married and I can't be in love with you anymore so I won't be!"

I can't take it anymore. He looks so upset, pacing around wiping his eyes, saying these hurtful things to me and I start crying. And not crying like I have been doing for the past month, but real crying. I bury my face in my dress and bawl, shudders going through my body.

"Oh my God." I hear him whisper and I feel him sit next to me again, pulling me into his arms. He turns me around so that my face is buried in his jacket and I cry more. "I'm so sorry, Martha. I never meant to make you cry." He rocks me back and forth until my sobs have quieted and then he pulls me up.

"How can you be engaged?" He whispers. "Why?"

I look down at my knees. "My father is making me."

"I knew it." He whispers. "I'll kill him. I swear, I'll kill him."

He starts to get up but I hold him down. "No! Georg, no! He'll kill you, you don't know what he can do!"

He looks at me again. "What does that mean?"

I look away. "Nothing."

"It means something." He grabs my arms. "Martha, what does it mean?"

"Nothing, I told you!"

"No you didn't. Tell me."

I look up at him. "Papa beats me. And not just that, he hurts me in other ways too, he hurts my mother, you cannot go challenging him!"

"He beats you?" Georg looks appalled when I nod. "Has someone told anyone?"

"Who would you tell, Georg?" I shake my head. "Grownups don't care!"

"But I do." He replies instantly. "Martha, what happened? I love you so much. I wanted to be with you, perhaps even marry you someday! When were… together, on my bed, I felt so close to you, I could never feel that way with anybody else!"

I look into his pleading eyes and the tears come back and another lunge in my stomach. And not because of the wedding, not because of hearbreak but because I remembered the truth.

It wasn't nerves. Moritz had taught me that much.

"I'm sorry, Georg, I have to go." I whisper, leaning in to give him one last longing kiss. This on eburns my insides and causes another wave of tears and I try to pull away, but Georg's hand stops me, clutching onto my cheek.

"I love you, Martha." He whispers. "Please, always remember that."

"I love you." I barely get out before letting a sob get by and running away.

I hated myself at that moment. I had hurt the one person in this world that I truly cared about, the one person that truly cared about me.

Thea's words ring clear.

_Run away! Go somewhere far off, anything! Do not marry him!_

Georg.

I could run away with him. Please God, give me the strength to.

Father.

Father will kill both of us if we are found. I can't do it.

I almost turn round but convince myself to keep walking forward.

After all, heartaches have their sorrows.


	18. Betrayal

Don't look back, Martha. Don't do it. You're both better off like this.

Do you really believe that?

Of course. This way, you can't see each other's pain. Don't make it harder for yourself.

But Georg…

Don't. Look ahead and walk back to the church yard.

"Martha!" I hear a girl's voice calling me and I turn to come face-to-face with a beaming Anna. Thea is right behind her but soon catches up to stand next to her.

"Hello, Anna." I say, forcing a smile but it doesn't fool her. It never does.

"What's wrong?" Thea puts her hand on my shoulder.

I can't take any more of this fake sympathy. They're both trying to make me feel better but I just feel worse.

"What's wrong?" I ask her back. "What's wrong? I'm getting married at fifteen years old, that's what's wrong!"

"I'm sorry, Martha!" Anna steps back, obviously not expecting my lashing out.

"Sorry won't do it!" I cry. "Sorry won't get me out of a marriage that I don't want to be in! You don't understand, you've never understood!"

"Understood what?" Anna looks puzzled and worried now.

"That I have been dealing with more pain than you could ever imagine!" I shout, letting out all of the anger and frustration that I have been holding in for the past fifteen years. "That my father beats me black and blue, that he comes into my room at night and causes me such pain, that I have to marry another man, a man who I find revolting when I'm in love with someone else! That I am so scared about how much I love Georg because I have to leave him!"

"You love Georg?" Anna asks, trying to pull me into an embrace but I step back.

"Yes!" I declare. "I do! But I can't be with him and I never will be with him because I'm so scared of what my father will do if I am with him! He'll hurt me more if he knows!"

"Will you be quiet for one minute?" I hear a voice cry and I look over to little Thea who is glaring at me with sincere hate.

"What?" I stare at her, unable to comprehend why she has just shouted at me.

"Every single time we play together, something about your life comes up and we have to feel sorry for you!" She shouts. "And even when you don't talk about it, there's something there, something distancing you from us!"

"Thea, stop." Anna puts her hand on Thea's shoulder but she shakes it off.

"No. Martha deserves to know." Thea takes a step towards me. "We are having our own problems, do you ever listen to them? Of course not, because we always have to listen to you! Well, I'm sick of it!"

"Thea, you don't know half of anything that I'm going through!" I try.

"Really?" She cries. "Try me. I bet you've told us about your problems so many times that I could recite all of them backwards!"

"Thea!" Anna looks shocked.

"Don't stop me, Anna, you know it's true." Anna looks away and Thea takes a step closer to me. "But I don't want to hear about your problems anymore. For all I care, you can find yourselves another group of friends."

With that, she turns and walks away, pulling Anna along as she does.

Watching them leave, I realize how many people I have hurt. Mama, Georg, Anna, Thea.

And so I'm alone now. Powerless.

There's nothing I can do. Georg probably hates me now and Thea will not listen to sense.

So I turn around and walk home, not truly knowing where I'm going.


	19. A Last Letter

And so that's where I am now.

Sitting on my bed, writing this last letter, after writing my whole journal, to whoever wants to read it.

Tomorrow's my wedding day. My birthday too. I'm going to be sixteen, coming of age. The age where girls are to be thought of as brides for the young men of the village. Usually on one's sixteenth birthday, she is presented with a cake and a long white dress. I have a long white dress but I curse the use of it. I curse many things.

Father, I curse the ground on which you walk. I always hated you, even when I was a tiny child, you were never close, never took me to fairgrounds like the other girls, never played with my toys with. And then you hurt me in so many ways. I can't ever forget it.

Mama, I curse those forgotten years. Those years where we were both too scared to speak to each other, where we left the room the moment the other came in. I did love you, Mama.

Anna, I curse pushing you away. You thought of everyone but yourself, although you were so blind to the ugly world around you. I can't forget all the times you've been with me.

Thea, I curse losing you. We were such good friends until we fought. Only now I truly realize how I've never listened to you. I am so sorry.

Georg, I curse leaving you. I loved you more than anything, anyone I ever knew and I will miss you the most of all. You were my everything and out few weeks we had together, every moment we spent in each other's arms was so special to me. I will miss everything about you, your smell of parchment, the way you said my name, the way your cheek made a dimple every time you smiled at me. I will miss being with you and I will miss our child. We were going to have a child, Georg. I can only tell you that now.

I can't go on. Marry a man I don't love, run from someone that I do. Hurt my friends, upset my mother. I can't do it anymore. Which is why I am writing this letter, to say it. You will never see me again, at least not when I have a soul in my body.

I hate that it has come to this. But you can't miss me too much, seeing as how much I have hurt everyone. I never got to be sixteen. That is one of my biggest regrets. But it's okay. I'll be talking to Moritz in heaven by now.

So with that, goodbye.

Goodbye forever.

* * *

**A/N :This chapter was very hard to write. I wanted to get all of Martha's emotion out but at the same time be reassuring. Hold on, though, there will be an epilogue!**


	20. Afterwards

That evening, Martha left her house out of her bedroom window, after placing the box with the journal and the two letters on the end of her bed. She ran into the forest. She never said goodbye to her mother.

She went through the forest until she found the stream, deep enough for her to have bathed in many times before. And so on midnight on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, without a so much as a scream, she stepped into it and drowned. She was dead instantly.

The next morning, Thea Verrat woke early and went for a walk in the forest. She came across the stream and decided to pause and sit a bit. She sat for five minutes until she noticed a piece of cloth floating in the water. When she investigated, she found all of Martha's body. With a scream, she ran back to her house and woke her mother to tell it to. She didn't leave her house for a long time.

Hans Fritzherb died of food poisoning a week after Martha committed suicide.

No one heard from Wendla Bergman, Melchior Gabor or Ilse Frei. They had simply vanished. Some of the children swore, months after, that they had seen Wendla and Melchior around but no one believed them.

Anna Wheelan went on to marry Otto and had one daughter with him, whom they called Martha.

Thea Verrat came out of her house on her seventeenth birthday. Only when she turned eighteen, it was deemed appropriate that she should see Martha's last letter. Thea never married, she went to the Artist's Colony to become a painter.

Georg was the first to read Martha's letter and was devastated when he found out that Martha had drowned and their child lost. However, he pushed his emotions aside in order to focus on revenge. When he turned eighteen, he hired a solicitor to investigate Martha's father. He was found guilty of child abuse and rape and was put into prison for fifty years, where he perished. Georg moved to Frankfurt to become a solicitor himself, where he pays close attention to child abuse cases. He could never marry.

Sometimes, when he goes back, Georg sits under that tree, where he sat a lot with Martha. He leans against the trunk and breathes in the fresh air. Every time, he leaves a space next to him for her. And sometimes, he's sure that she is there, leaning against his shoulder, like nothing had ever changed.

* * *

**A/N : The Final Journal of Martha Bessell is finished!**

**I thought so much about how to end this and this seemed like the perfect way. **

**I cried a bit in the last paragraph. No, I cried a lot. **

**Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, especially MRSCULLEN1122, who has always been so phenomenal, reviewing Spring and Summer, my other fanfiction and this one. Thank you so much, you have been fantastic, your reviews have been lovely and I couldn't have asked for anything better!**

**I hereby close The Final Journal of Martha Bessel. Thank you so much.**

**More fanfiction to come later, I promise! xx**


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